


The River

by hips_of_steel



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-05
Updated: 2017-10-05
Packaged: 2019-01-09 01:47:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12266379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hips_of_steel/pseuds/hips_of_steel
Summary: The river has a spirit of its own.The river chooses its own.One went to the river to drown.And instead found herself a home.





	The River

She had gone down to the river to drown. Her swollen feet, aching with every step, all but cried out for mercy as she stopped at the shore, tired eyes glancing all around in fright and exhaustion.

She slowly brought herself to sit on the ground, feeling the aches and pains in her body. She must have looked a complete mess if anyone could find her, not that they would. She had sought this spot out for years, the solitude bringing her peace.

But now she was not alone.

She glanced at the child in the bundle at her side, no more than a few weeks old. She reached down and brushed off a small piece of dirt from his face, wishing she could have seen him grow tall and strong, fair as an ocean breeze in the sails of a ship. But today was their day of reckoning.

Her long red hair was tied back from her face, but something else red trickled down from her head. A wound had reopened, turning her pale skin into a patchwork mess of white and red. The black bruises all over her body spoke of immense pain, and her shoes were no more than sodden bandages anymore.

She moved them forward, soaking her feet in the icy cold of the river. She wanted to cry out, both from the cold and the sudden shock of pain that rushed up them, but she bit her lip, tears welling into her eyes until her feet were nothing but numb.

Her clothes were torn, as was her skin. More blood dripping and drying in the faint spring light. Never before had she come to this place in such a sorry state, but never before had she needed the water as much as she did now.

She took her son into her arms, and slowly stood, more tears welling as she once again put weight on her aching feet. But she did not let loose a single cry, stepping forward and allowing the hem of her dress to soak up as much of the water as it willed.

A tear, mixing with her blood, rolled down her cheek, and fell into the water without her even noticing. She held her son close to her chest, keeping him as warm as she could until his last moments.

A faint ripple spread out from the tear, and the woman continued forward, water now up to her knees, when suddenly she heard a voice speak.

"What seek you in my river?"

She whirled in fright to see a man standing at the shore. She scrambled for anything to defend herself with, but found nothing. She had come here to die, why would she have brought anything, save herself and her son?

"Stay back!" She said, holding her son tighter. She had been violated enough in this life. She would not let this man do the same as her husband had. She would end this life in peace, and heaven be damned if she didn’t.

The man seemed surprised at her tone, and she quickly took another few steps back, nearly falling in as she scrambled backwards. He raised his hands as if showing her he was unarmed, and then took one gentle step forward, his feet set in the water.

"You are injured." He stated, voice gentle and kind. He was clearly trying to show he wasn’t a threat, but she was too wary after all this time.

Then she froze in place. This man was not normal. He wore garments entirely made of white, and an unearthly glow surrounded him, an aura like that of an angel, yet this was no angel. She took another step or two back in panic, and then stumbled.

In a moment, he was there, catching her before she plunged into the water completely, and slowly lifting her out of the water. She winced when he reached for her head, but his hands, wet from the water, did not press on the wound.

"Who did this to you?" He asked, shocked at the wound he found when he brushed back her hair.

She said nothing as the man examined the wound, but then spoke at a whisper. "The father of my son."

He seemed repulsed by that, and then glanced down at the bundle she held to her breast. The boy had woken up at the near fall, and was beginning to whine in fear.

He reached down and brushed a hand against the boy’s face, and the child fell calm. She said nothing, still afraid of this man and what he was doing. Then he reached up, taking her chin and turning her face so their eyes could meet.

He had eyes as blue as her sons, as blue as hers supposedly were, and soft golden curls flowing down from his head. They pierced her soul, and she almost felt as if she had seen them before, staring back at her from this very pool of water.

The man gazed at her in the silence for a moment, and then spoke. "You've come to die." It was a statement, not a question.

She nodded. "It's our only option to escape from the man who hurts us. Last night... he said either I could do as he asked or he would take the boy and dash him against a wall." She turned away. "I did it, and yet this-” She reached up and touched her head. “-is what he gave me for a reward."

The man said nothing, and she glanced at him for a moment.

He reached for her wound again, but she pulled back, afraid. Her son sensed her fear and began to whimper.

He stopped, lowering his hand, and then reached down. He touched the water, and she watched a ripple flow out from his hand, but it was no normal ripple in this pool.

And suddenly, her feet ceased their painful aches, and he reached out, touching a bruise on her arm. The sleeve had torn, showing the purple skin and a network of fine scratches from a tree.

The water that dripped off of his hand easily flowed over it, leaving stripes of healed skin in their wake. He set his whole hand on it, and the bruise faded away, leaving not even the slightest sensation of tender skin as a reminder of its presence on her arm.

She stared at him in shock and confusion, and then lifted her arm, examining it. When she found that the bruise was truly healed, she glanced at her feet.

No longer swollen, bruised, and scratched, she hardly recognized them.

He spoke very quietly.

"I am the spirit of this river. This pool is my home. I can offer you shelter here, safe from the harm of the father of your child. Shelter for your child too. But there is one thing you must agree too."

She said nothing as he looked her in the eyes.

"You must become my wife. In exchange, all this pain shall disappear. You and your son shall live here with me as long as the river flows clean and clear. The boy shall be my own, and I shall never harm him nor you."

There was a long silence as she looked at him, and he dipped his hand into the water, filling it and then raising it to her head. With his gentle touch and the water that flowed from his hand, her wound healed. The water dripped down her face, washing it clean of the dirt and blood already there.

Finally, she spoke. "Why me?"

He stopped, and then very carefully caught a drop of water clearing away the blood. "Years ago, those who used to call the land theirs summoned me with tears and blood, as that was what they felt they owed me. It has been so long since then. I heard the call of your tear, and answered. I find you seeking aide, although you did not know it. So I offered my aide. But… despite not having been called by you before now, I still watch. This is not your first visit to my pool. You have been coming since you were a young girl. I feared I had seen the last of you the day before you wed, when you said you would never return. But here I find you, unhappy and burdened. The bright face I knew dimmed with sorrow. I will not see it as such ever again if I can make it so."

She said nothing for a while, and then spoke. "There is one other thing I must know. What is your name?"

He paused for a moment, unsure. "The humans along my banks call me many things... Is that what you wish to know?"

"No. By what do you call yourself?" She asked.

He shook his head. "I call myself by nothing, for I have no need of a name. I have always been alone."

"May I then name you?" She asked quietly.

"Only if you agree to be my wife and for your son to be mine." He responded, setting his hand on her cheek, gazing into her eyes.

She nodded. "Then I name you Francis."

He accepted the name with grace, and then stared at her for a moment, eyes piercing her soul and gleaning knowledge from it once more. "Your first husband called you Scarlet, and never named the boy. That name is one that has been used to hurt you, and cannot be used here. I shall call you Ailsa, and the boy Alfred. For this is a new life. It is deserving of a new name."

She nodded, and then he took her hand as if he was a high lord in a royal court, and she his fair lady. She adjusted the bundle of blankets, her son still mewling in her arms.

They stepped forward, deeper into the water, and he spoke gently. "Do not fear the water anymore, my Ailsa. For it is now you and your son's home. Your breath will not falter."

Deeper into the river they walked, until her son was just above the water's reach.

He stopped, coming to stand in front of her. Blue eyes met blue, and he set his other hand on her shoulder.

"Do you trust me?"

She nodded.

And gently, they lowered themselves into the depths of the water below.

If anyone had been standing on the shore, they would have seen her long red hair framed against the surface, spreading out as though she were drowning. A crimson curtain, as though a wedding veil made of pure fire.

And then, as though a trick of the light, moments later, the sight of her hair would have disappeared, as if it had never been there at all.

Instead, a bundle of fabric lay on the shore. The dress she had worn, and the swaddling for her son. The only sign they had ever come here at all.

***

As time passed, they stopped looking for the woman with red hair and the boy she had taken with her. Humans move on.

But for spirits, time flows differently.

Francis showed her how to hide, to become the water itself. He taught her how to use the push and pull of the river, and how to call down the fury of the water, should she need it. He taught her to defend herself and her son, and then he taught her the other side of the river, the gentle one, bringing life to the very land itself.

Alfred learned all of it as if it was his own true nature, which she supposed it was. Barely had he lived as a human before he was a very spirit of nature itself. To him, this was simply the way of the world, and he marvelled in it.

Francis kept his word, and she watched him with the boy. Always kind and gentle, a guiding hand in the world. Alfred called him father, and she felt her heart fill with pride.

He was swift as a storm over the land the river crossed, and caught fish for his own amusement, for they needed no subsistence save the very water of the river. He simply wished to prove how swift and fast he was, how nimble and strong.

They had hardly explained salmon to him before he went racing down the river as far as he could, waiting to catch one and bring it back to show his parents.

She laughed at his sheer excitement for life. His happy play in the river, learning the nature of the world around him. Her was her son, and she would always be proud of him.

But still she worried. Sometimes the spirit of the forest spoke to them. He spoke of a man, always wandering, seeking something. Seeking someone. She feared it was the one she had fled, the one who would seek her to the ends of the earth, and the boy too, if he ever learned that they lived.

Francis sensed the fear in her mind, and one day, after a hunter had sprinted across the shallow edge of their pool in pursuit of a deer, he decided to take them somewhere new. For a short while at least, until life could begin to become calm once more.

Going upriver, she felt everything change. The higher they went into the mountains, the more alien this land seemed, until eventually, they could no longer stay within the water, using their human forms to walk.

Francis lead them to a tiny spring, bubbling up, barely a trickle on the land.

“My beginning. The headwaters.”

He told them the stories of those who found him, how he found himself here, his birth and such. They sat under the stars, safe from human interference here. For days they spoke, even young Alfred sitting still in curiosity to hear the tales of his father.

But one fine morning, while Alfred still slept, Francis woke her.

“Ailsa… come with me.”

She followed him, and they left behind the headwaters, climbing up the mountain itself.

“The roost of the spirits, the humans once called it, back when they knew our names and called us gods.” He said, reaching a small cave. He bent low, and she saw a pile of kindling had been left. “Each whom visits replenishes the pile as they leave. Should another come and find it missing, they know to wait.” He lifted a piece of flint, and soon a fire was struck.

He guided her back into the depths, and then raised the torch. She saw the magnificent paintings.

Animals dotted the walls, and the art depicted life. The cycle of the seasons, the homes on the mountains.

But then he led her into another, smaller chamber.

And when he lifted his torch this time, she saw another side of this world he had once belonged too.

Life and death among the spirits, whom rose and fell as if they were the waters of the river throughout the year.

He took her hand. “Every time we leave the water, or the forests, or the mountains, whatever makes our very being, we risk our very lives. But if we do not leave the water, we have no lives. The humans loved us once. Now they no longer know us.” He lowered the torch. “One day, he may come searching. He might find us. But come that day, we will leave the water if we must to defend ourselves and our son. He will never lay you or our son low. I would let myself be cut down before that day.”

There was a long silence, and then he brought his lips to hers. The kiss was gentle, a thousand reassurances in its sweetness.

_ I love you. _

_ I believe in you. _

_ You are strong. _

It was the end of summer when they left the headwaters of their river, returning to their pool downstream.

Ailsa stepped out of the river for the first time since she had arrived, taking her son with her into the forest.

The forest greeted her, spoke to her, and she smiled.

She and her husband would protect their son no matter what. She need not tremble in fright at the father of her son any longer. She was the very river itself, as was her son and husband.

She smiled as they returned to the river, crossing the pool to the overhang on the other side.

Francis pulled them inside, holding them close. Winter was coming. A time of rest. They would rest hidden there, warm and comfortable and safe as the water rose.

And in spring, as Francis’s full glory returned in the spring river, Ailsa rose and found herself round with child.

Herself the autumn river, Alfred the summer, and Francis the spring, no one was surprised when small Matthieu was born that year as the spirit of the winter river.

***

The small little overhang was the place they called home in the river. Alfred smiled as his mother and father, still asleep, nestled closer tiredly.

In mother's arms, still asleep as well, was his younger brother. He smiled. Soon enough, young Matthieu would be able to keep up and join his brother in their play.

But for now, Alfred slipped out into the pool and began to splash in the water. As the rain fell in waves, his play was hardly noticeable. He kicked and spun and grinned as the water rushed around him.

As a spirit of the river, floods did not harm him, nor did the current ever make his footing unsteady. Winter's rain was refreshing against his skin. The rising water comforted him. But it was not winter yet, merely autumn.

And this was the first autumn rain, calling to nature and speaking of the end of summer.

Father and mother always slept through the first autumn rain, as they had all the years Alfred could remember. They grew tired as the water lowered during the summer. But the first rain of autumn brought life back to them, especially mother.

Alfred knew why. He was the river of summer, narrow, shallow, and fast, wild and unpredictable if a summer rain arrived. Mother was the river of autumn. Widening, cooling, and preparing for the winter rains. Matthieu was the river of winter. Wide, roaring, frothing, and powerful. Father was the river of spring, bringing the cycle to a start once more as the water lowered slightly, but the river was still overflowing, bringing new life to the land once more as he flowed downstream.

So, awake as only he could be at this time of year, Alfred played in the river, grinning and laughing as only a child can.

He finally pulled himself ashore on the opposite bank, prepared to wait for the rain to cease and his parents to awaken or for night to fall. He knew he didn’t age as humans did. For years, he had been young. And for years he would remain so. He was what he was. And he hardly had a care in the world about it.

As the rains began to weaken as the hours passed, he grinned, ready to see his mother's face emerge, filling with life once more as the first rain of autumn soaked into her body.

But as he sat in perfect peace, something grabbed his garment.

He shrieked in surprise as he was yanked from the ground, and shocked to see a human man glaring at him. Then he felt the knife under his chin, forcing him into silence with the threat.

The man was older, once bright yellow hair filled with grey, and green eyes under thick brows glaring at him. He used the knife to lift Alfred's head, gazing into his eyes, and then grinning, but it was a grin of power, not one of kindness or affection.

"I don't know what deal that mother of yours made with the devil to keep you from aging, but you're mine, no doubt."

Alfred tried to pull back, wanting to scream or to leap back into the water, but the knife was kept close to his throat.

"For more than thirty years now... I've searched for you and your mother. Only that traitor could have left such blue eyes in my bloodline. I assumed she had fled with another man, or truly died. Then I hear of a red headed siren living in a pool on the river, with a young boy always with her. And now I see you. Mine, as clear as day."

Alfred was terrified, and didn't even notice the rains fading away as the man stepped forward.

"A devil's son you are now, but at least I will finally have the proof of her betrayal with your blood. Black as coal, I'm sure. How unfortunate I cannot rescue you from this existence, save with your death."

Alfred yanked back as far and as fast as he could, a loud cry escaping his lips, and the older man, startled by his sudden movement and hand buried deep in his garment, came crashing down, letting go to prevent himself from falling on his blade.

He leapt for the water right as he saw his mother emerge in panic at the sound of his fright, but moments before he feet would have touched the water and given him safety, a hand caught the back of his clothes, yanking him up and away from the water once more.

And then he saw a look he had never seen on his mother's face before.

Her face almost transformed into a mask of hate directed at the man above him, and she snarled.  _ "YOU!" _

Father was right behind her in emerging, and she surged forward. Alfred felt himself being grabbed by her hand and almost thrown behind her, falling into the safety of the water. Moments later, he was beside his father in fright, and watched his mother stare at the man, who looked even more powerful at the sight of her than of him.

"You thought you could escape me?" The man says with a laugh. "You're a fool. I will see the evil in you slain."

She said nothing, but Alfred watched her feet, tapping a pattern on the water as she rested on top of its surface. He knew his father saw it, given the almost invisible aide he sent out to her. Alfred took his brother from his father's arms, and braced himself for impact.

Floods like this were his domain, but sometimes his mother could call one to her, especially after the first rain of the year, for the river had not yet truly changed to her domain. It was still a summer river.

Still his river.

He reached up the river, even higher, to the mountains. He called the rain, the melting snow, and all the loose debris within it. It only took a small gesture of his own, a flick of the wrist, and the aide of his parents. He felt the snow slide loose. He felt it melt. He felt the water rise.

The canyon was narrow. It would channel the water well.

The man was still gloating as he leaned forward, pressing the knife to mother’s throat. "I should have killed you all those years ago, Scarlet."

She didn't even move a single muscle, and her eyes did not show an ounce of fear. "As I should have killed you. I just didn't know I had the strength within me at the time. Now, I know I have the strength to kill a thousand men just like you.”

There was a sudden roar, and Alfred felt his mother weave an invisible wall. They were immune from the flood, but it would still be unpleasant if the water hit them without meeting some resistance. Father pulled him into it, bracing for the impact once more.

The man glanced up in surprise at the sound, and mother smiled. "Goodbye, Arthur."

In a moment, she was with the rest of them, braced on the other side of her sons as a flash flood roared down the canyon. They watched it sweep the shore, destruction in its path.

The man never had a chance.

The river roared and swallowed the man, and in silence save the very roar of his body in the river, Alfred watched him wash away.

As the water abated around them, his mother turned to him, swiftly examining him in a panic. She found a small scratch under his chin from the knife, and in a moment, brought her hand to it. "Oh, my son... I am so sorry..." Her gentle touch, moistened with water, erased the injury from his body.

Father stood with Matthieu in his arms, and then bent down, looking mother in the eyes. "He is gone. We never need worry again. He can hunt you no more."

Alfred glanced around at his family, and then spoke. "Who was that man?"

There was silence between his parents, and then mother spoke. "The man I once called husband."

They seemed to expect more questions, but Alfred simply nodded. “I’m glad he is gone. He’ll never bother you again.”

The family retreated under their overhang after the exhausting day they had had, and Alfred curled up between his parents, falling asleep swiftly. Francis and Ailsa glanced at each other, and wrapped their arms around him.

He was their son.

No one else's.

And that would never change.


End file.
